


Turn Your Heart to Stone

by benedictedcumberbatched



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kidlock, Loss, Minor Character Death, Sad, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictedcumberbatched/pseuds/benedictedcumberbatched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes had not always been so cold hearted and unfeeling. As a child, he had one friend but when he lost that friend one day, he changed. (100th follower prompt on tumblr: redbeard memories).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn Your Heart to Stone

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the referenced characters. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. I'm merely borrowing them.
> 
> \--  
> For my 100th follower on tumblr: cumblrbatched

“Come on, Redbeard!” the young boy called as he ran through the garden. A wooden sword was clutched tight in his hand, a black tri-corn hat shoved over the unruly mop of dark hair. Diving down behind a hedge, Sherlock peered over the top before shrinking back down with a gasp. He wrapped his free arm around the red Irish setter. “The evil Captain Mike is pillaging our treasure. What do you say, first mate Redbeard?” Sherlock whispered into the dog’s fur. “I agree. A sneak attack is best done at night.”

Peeking over the top of the hedge again, Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly as he planned out his attack. He would wait until Mike’s back was turned then make his approach. “Ready?” he murmured to the dog, his fingers winding around the collar. Sherlock crept out from behind the hedge, the wooden sword in his hand held swiftly in front of him.

“Step away from the treasure and no one gets hurt,” Sherlock said sternly, the tip of the wooden blade pressed into Mike’s back.

“I am not playing this game anymore, Sherlock,” came the stiff and annoyed voice of the older boy. He turned around, swatting down the blade with one hand while the other was firmly grasped around one of their mother’s signature cakes.

The younger boy firmly stuck his wooden sword into the ground and crossed his thin arms. “You’re sneaking cakes from Mummy again. That is your fourth cake because of the amount of crumbs still down your front and the amount of sticky stuff still on your fingers. Mummy’s going to know,” Sherlock smirked.

“Don’t be smart, _William_.”

Sherlock scowled at the use of his true first name. “It’s so obvious, _Mike_. Why won’t you play?” he asked.

Mycroft sighed; setting the cake back into the container he brought it out with. “Because it’s time you stopped pretending and actually do something productive with your life. You are not a little boy anymore, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blinked rapidly a couple times and took a step back. “Come on, Redbeard,” he said stiffly, grabbing his wooden sword and stalked off, his trusty sidekick trotting along behind him. Finding his spot, he crawled through the opening in the bushes and sat down. He wrapped his thin arms around Redbeard’s neck and buried his face in the soft fur. “I am too still a boy,” he whispered. “You’ll always play with me, right Redbeard?” he asked knowing he would always have his best friend with him.

\---

Sherlock dropped his bag to the floor with a loud thud. The legs of his chair scraped against the wood floor before dropping himself onto the chair. What was the point of school exactly? His teachers were completely useless, had no idea what they were talking about, and his classmates put goldfish to shame with the lack of memory they had. Licking at his lips, he hissed as his tongue hit the cut. So what if he had told Rebecca that her boyfriend was cheating on her? Wasn’t it kinder of him to nip that disaster waiting to happen in the bud before all he heard about during biology was her sobs and how much she missed Seth? He really didn’t understand why she had slapped him but had wished she’d had the decency to take off her rings first.

A pressure on his leg made him jump and he looked down, seeing Redbeard with his head resting on Sherlock’s knee. Running his fingers through the dogs fur and playing with his ears he smiled. “Hey Redbeard. You don’t judge me do you?” he trailed off. Sherlock wasn’t blind; he could see the whiteness of Redbeard’s fur collecting around his muzzle. He couldn’t quite move as fast as he used to and his hearing was practically gone.

Turning in his chair so that Redbeard was settled between his legs, Sherlock bent over and buried his face in the dog’s fur. The Irish setter had been with him from the very beginning and as much as Sherlock didn’t want to admit it, he knew all things had to come to an end some time.

\---

When Sherlock had gotten home from school that day he had not been expecting that news. School was torture enough as it was, boring people with their tiny brains who didn’t understand a single concept, who, when Sherlock tried to correct them, decide that beating him up was the best solution. But as his bedroom door slammed shut behind him and he threw himself unceremoniously onto his bed, the daily beatings he received from his classmates was far from his mind.

The metallic jingling of dog tags reached his ears as he lifted his right hand above his head. There was a hollowness in his chest that settled deep within his belly. The black, bone shaped tag with silver writing caught the light and Sherlock let out a ragged sigh. _Redbeard_. His companion, his playmate, his friend was gone. He lowered his hand, fisting the collar and clutching it to his chest.

Logically this day had been bound to come. Redbeard had been old. He couldn’t even climb the stairs to Sherlock’s room anymore but that didn’t make the fact that his parents had made the decision to put him down any easier. Sherlock didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye, as ridiculous as the idea was. Blue-green eyes staring at the ceiling, Sherlock began sifting through his memories of his friend and stowing them away in a mental box. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to feel the pain and loss and heartbreak anymore.

He let go of the collar, leaving it resting on his chest over his heart as his hands came together under his chin in a steepled fashion, his eyes closed as he shifted the memories away, feeling his emotions begin to slip away and become locked in the box with Redbeard.

It wasn’t until the darkness of his room hours later roused him from his prone position that he noticed his desk lamp was on and a plate of food, cold now and would remain uneaten, was in the circle of yellow light. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, the collar fell to the floor with a clatter. Reaching under his bed, he pulled out a box and grabbing the collar, set it inside with the wooden sword of his childhood.

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill, leave your kudos and/or comments on the way out :) Greatly appreciated as this is my first kidlock fic and was a bit difficult to write.


End file.
